Villain's Happy Ending
by TutorGirlml
Summary: In the midst of a showdown with the Wicked Witch, Hook is faced with whether or not a villain can gain a happy ending. Looking death in the face, makes him wonder if a happy ending may not be what it has always seemed. Emma, on the other hand, may not be able to accept anything less for him...
1. Prologue

_Just a quick note before I begin this chaptered story. I've been rolling this idea around in my mind for a while now, trying to figure out how to work it, but I've finally decided just to go with it before the show returns for the second half of the season (It's finally almost time!) and makes it all completely implausible anyway. I'm totally guessing at much of the Wicked Witch's personality and behavior, of course, and this will be a little darker than I usually go before it's done. I hope it's okay and that I've rated it correctly. Please let me know what you think of this and if it's worth continuing. _

_I don't own the characters or the show, as always. _

_Enjoy!_

"_Villain's Happy Ending"_

_Prologue_

He had never imagined that dying would hurt so much.

After the agony of the Dark One slicing off his hand as cleanly as a knife would slip through butter, after watching Milah's heart crushed into powder in that same demon's hand, after the tearing loss of Liam and the guilt he had carried ever since for failing his older brother, Killian Jones had been certain he understood pain and suffering. The years he had spent alone, aimless, burning with hatred and vengeance in his blood had convinced the pirate captain that when his life's voyage reached its end, he would not even flinch. Rather than aching for more time or another chance, Killian had believed that he would welcome the ability to rest at last, to be free of all that had plagued him.

He had considered the possibilities for himself quite often since his conversation with the Queen onboard the Jolly Roger in Neverland. Finally being allowed to close his eyes and lay his burdens down might be the happiest ending possible for a villain like him. There had been many times throughout his unnaturally long life when Killian would have welcomed Death's respite.

All that had changed, however, when he met his Swan.

He knew he had no right to call the Enchanted Forest's lost princess "his", but in his heart, she was his all the same. Emma Swan had stirred the hopeful, naïve young man within him: Lieutenant Jones, who had once dreamed of being a hero.

With something – _someone – _to fight for, he did not want to be finished yet. He had been given a way and an opportunity to gain absolution, to redeem himself. He could not leave that quest unfinished. After centuries lost as the dastardly, twisted Hook, he wanted _himself _back. He would still be willing to die fighting for Emma, at her side, but he could not bear to go out until he knew she was safe, that she would be alright.

That must have been where this pain was coming from. The Wicked Witch's screamed curse had struck him squarely in the chest as he dove in front of Emma's boy amidst the battle, and he was instantaneously writhing in the agony it brought. His limbs contorted, jerking wildly and without his control, feeling as if the muscles were being stretched and pulled beyond their limits. Fire burned throughout his body, under his skin, and it was only with sheer, hardened will that he kept from crying out.

Distracted by the torment, Killian did not realize at first that he was no longer standing on solid ground. He was flying through the air, carried somewhere beyond his control, and he could not see what was happening or where Emma or anyone else was. He was being taken from the battle, taken somewhere against his will, and as the pulling and tearing continued, he could feel the fight within him weakening. He did not want to desert them, but it was no longer his choice.

For a single moment, he let his eyes drift closed, the hurt easing a fraction, but he was still stunned by the intensity of both the pain and the emotion pulsing through him. Perhaps he was not ready to say goodbye after all, he realized, but blackness closed over him all the same.


	2. Chapter One: Realization

_Thanks to the folks who checked out this story's short little prologue, now we're going to dive into the real bulk of the plotline. I hope more readers will join us with this one! Things are definitely going to get worse before they get better for our characters, but I hope you'll hang in there and enjoy reading._

_I still don't own them!_

_Villain's Happy Ending_

_Chapter One: Realization_

When Killian's eyes flickered open sometime later, he didn't know where he was. It was cold, dark, and utterly, eerily silent. He pushed himself up to a crouch from the crumpled heap he had been lying in on what felt like a cold, stone floor. He glanced around quickly, surreptitiously; eyes darting from side to side, alert and knowing something was lurking nearby. The short hairs at the nape of his neck prickled and stood on end; Killian was sure he was not truly alone.

Feeling vulnerable in the dark and confusion, he went to stand and encountered chains arresting his movement. Glancing down, Killian wondered how he had missed feeling the manacles around his ankles and his one whole wrist, securing him to the wall behind. It must have been the heavy, lethargic dullness weighing his limbs from the convulsions before he lost consciousness. He could feel sensation still returning to his body gradually. Rather than fruitlessly fighting restraints that felt too sturdy to break, the pirate furrowed his brow, considering his next move.

Where was he? He could not see much, but he knew he was somewhere secure and fortified, because no sound penetrated. It was so strangely, completely quiet that it gave the sensation he had either gone deaf or was suddenly the one person yet remaining in the world. He wondered briefly if he was somewhere underground, some hidden lair their foe had which they did not know about. The seemingly stone walls and floor, cool temperature, and dim surroundings all hinted at that conclusion.

Since he clearly was not dead yet, Killian was immediately plotting, preparing himself for when the maniacal green harpy returned and how he was going to figure a way out of his predicament. Granted, he might not stand much of a chance, but he was not going to give the Witch the satisfaction of being an easy kill.

He wished he knew if he had managed to shield Henry completely from the curse. With all that the lad had seen and survived in Neverland, then New York, then back in Storybrooke, he had certainly been through enough. The boy had Emma's pluck and determination, but no one wanted to see him hurt any farther, Killian included. He could only hope that Henry, Emma, David, Snow, and the others were safe and unharmed; he had not seen any of them since jumping into the line of fire during their last skirmish. Whatever their green-skinned opponent had done, it had taken him elsewhere and he did not have any way to know what was happening back at their home base or if the rest of them had survived to regroup.

Oddly, he chose to believe they had. In this dark, silent prison, shackled, trapped, and vulnerable, Killian Jones found that there was hope in him that the rest of them would carry on and win this fight. Those bloody Charmings had somehow managed to give him back the faith he had possessed lifetimes ago as a young man; naïve as it might have seemed in his current position, hope glimmered within his soul all the same.

Time seemed to stretch on interminably; it might have been only minutes since he had opened his eyes and regained awareness, but it felt much longer. If that villainess was watching, biding her time, he only wished she would hurry up and show herself, then get on with whatever it was she had planned. Killian was no fool. He knew what this sorceress had in mind would not be pleasant for him. In the weeks since he had helped Emma and Henry regain their memories and return to their loved ones, he had seen the pain and destruction this new foe had wrought. However, he felt he could withstand anything better than waiting and imagining the very worst.

Still nothing happened, and Killian gingerly attempted to stand again, this time moving backwards to lean against the wall he was secured to, taking stock of the damages to his well-being. The dazed heaviness was finally beginning to wear off, but all of his muscles felt stiff and ill-used, bringing to mind the painful contortions that had come along with being picked up by the Witch's blasted curse. It could have been much worse though, he finally decided, after ascertaining that nothing seemed broken, and he wasn't bleeding, nauseous, or dizzy. He could move reasonably well, at least to the extent that his restraints allowed, with near his usual grace and only the already noted mild discomfort. He felt he could at least put up a fight or attempt an escape if the opportunity presented itself. So, with a sigh, he finally sat again, this time with his back against the solid stone wall behind him to wait. He did not know where he was or what exactly was in store for him, but at least it couldn't sneak up on him unseen.

Finally, he heard the scrape of stone on stone and saw a bit more light creeping into his prison as a door in the wall which had not even been visible slowly slid open. He stood to his feet, ready to fight, not wanting to appear weak or defeated. Instinct had him reaching for the sword at his hip, only to find it missing. It wasn't until he saw who entered the room, however, that he wished to go back to his monotonous ignorance. Yes, the witch was here to torment him at last, just as he had expected. What curdled his blood was the person she had brought with her. The high-pitched cackle of pleasure she let out as someone else was shoved in ahead of her could freeze the breath in the bravest hero's lungs. The person's head was covered with a hood, but Killian would have known that lithe, wiry frame and those knee-high boots anywhere. _Emma, _his soul clenched at the realization. _How had she been taken?_

Even unable to see, she was squirming and fighting, but when the witch pulled the hood off, the cascade of her golden hair confirmed what Killian had already known. Shoved into the room with supernatural force, Emma skidded and stumbled across the floor and fell hard in front of him without the ability to use her hands to cushion her landing.

Killian lurched forward to catch her, but was pulled up short, her name coming out in a strangled exclamation as he watched her hit the floor heavily and grunt in pain. Their enemy chortled with barely restrained evil glee at the scene, and then called out, "I'll leave you two to catch up…before the games truly begin!" Then the door closed, darkness descended once more, and she was gone.

Emma let out a soft moan, but he could hear her shuffling around, getting to her feet no doubt and trying to adjust to the very small amount of light. She wasn't saying anything, and he couldn't really tell if she was standing again or not, so he tried speaking to her softly, hoping she could follow his voice. "Are you alright, Love? Nothing broken, I hope?" He tried to inject his accustomed levity into the question, to put her at ease, even as he panicked on the inside that she was there, captured as well, then he held his breath, awaiting her response. Their opponent knew them better than he had reckoned, Killian realized with a sinking heart; he could have withstood anything she doled out to him, but if she planned to use Emma against him, to hurt the lass until he surrendered whatever it was she wanted, she would break him. It was an uncomfortable truth, and it settled like lead in his gut. He swallowed hard, not sure what to expect, when Emma finally answered him.

"Hook? Is that you?" she whispered, and he could finally hear her light footsteps drawing closer to him. "We thought you were dead! Are you alright? Do you know where we are?"

He smirked in spite of himself, letting out a relieved, humored breath. She was already puzzling this out, wondering where they were and how to proceed. It was in times such as these that he was reminded again how similar to one another they truly were. All he said though was, "Come here, Swan. I can't get any further from the wall. Just keep walking toward my voice…There you are. That's right, Lass."

The relief he felt when she was near enough to touch, for him to feel the warmth of her presence, almost stole his breath. "Are you hurt?" he murmured hoarsely, voice catching with emotion. "That was quite a fall you took."

"Scratched up my hands and knocked the wind out of me, that's all." He could practically feel her shrug her shoulders, playing it off, and he knew she would be fine. She was a tough lass, just as he had noted and marveled at long ago, on their first adventure together. He fell for her just a little more at that moment while reveling in her calm in the face of danger, and lightly reached out to catch her bound wrists in his good hand.

"Let's see if we can get you out of this, shall we?" he quipped, wanting to keep her spirits up, keep her brave and feisty as long as possible while he did all the dreading of what awaited them. In a moment oddly charged and reminiscent of that time long ago in the giant's castle, he held her wrist in his hand, and brought their joined hands up to his mouth, where he could pull the loose end of the knot tying her bindings free. He heard her exhale shakily, obviously remembering that past moment as well. Somehow, even in the near complete darkness, their eyes finally met unerringly and held.

Emma's now free hand came up to stroke the side of his face. "I'm glad you're still alive," she whispered, her voice quavering and as tentative as he had ever heard it. "I thought you were gone, and I had…I'd never…" she trailed off, wetting her lips and looking down, clearly struggling to steel herself for some sort of admission.

For a moment, where they were and what they were facing vanished. All Killian could see was Emma, and his heart was racing at what she seemed to be implying. He wanted to soothe her, to tell her he understood, and that she did not need to make any declaration she was not prepared for.

However, that was when the door grated open again. With a sinister giggle, their captor rejoined them. Rather than trying to say anything else, Killian simply pulled Emma behind him, hoping to shield her as long as he could. Trying to gather their exchange around himself for strength, the pirate readied for the worst, knowing neither of them would leave this meeting unscathed. If he had anything to do with it though – if any of what happened next remained in his power – he would suffer the brunt of the Witch's wrath himself. He would not let this fiend hurt his Swan if he could stop it. He would fight to protect Emma to his last breath; she had restored his honor to him, reminded him of the man he truly was, and he was not willing to lose that again.

"Ooh, so brave," the Wicked Witch simpered at his action, almost as if he had made some sort of joke, "the pirate trying to protect the princess." Her cold, cruel eyes glinted maliciously in her chartreuse face, and she studied them for a moment, as if relishing their tense unease and gloating over it before she sprang into action.

Without warning, she flicked her wrist. Killian flew one way, slamming into the wall, while the chains, which had allowed some slack, constricted to hold him tightly against the unyielding stone. Emma was flung across the space as well, against the opposite wall, her eyes flying to him uncertainly, panic that she would never express out loud flaring in her gaze and pulling at him, though there was nothing he could do. She was not restrained in the same way he was, but by whatever power their monster wielded, Emma was just as surely immobilized.

Strangely, Killian noticed that he could suddenly see much more clearly and found that the sorceress had also lit torches held in wall sconces all around their stone dungeon. He could see Emma struggling to move, to cry out, but no sound came from her lips and though he could see her grit her teeth at the effort, she did not seem able to move a single muscle of her own volition. She appeared to be frozen in place against the wall.

He yearned to go to her, to swear he would never allow harm to come to her – his brave, beautiful lass who had already suffered so much – but the chill in his gut, the fear that twisted his insides, told him that might be a vow he could not keep.


	3. Chapter Two: Torment

_Did you folks not like the first chapter as much as the prologue? I hope I haven't gone wrong with this already. Let me know what you think; it really does help as I continue to write. Anyway, enough review-starved begging, on with the story!_

_I'm trying to update once more before the weekend, because I don't know if I'll be able to after this for a couple of days. This one was hard to write (it's something I've never tried to describe before, and it's hard to hurt Killian, even if it is fiction) but it shows what is truly at stake._

_Hope you enjoy, and of course, I still don't own them!_

_Villain's Happy Ending_

_Chapter Two: Torment_

Time seemed to stand still for a charged, horrifying stretch while the Witch nearly licked her lips, a predator salivating over trapped prey. As fervently as Killian wished that this monster would come for him, she turned and moved decidedly toward Emma. Her cackling laughter sounded like glass shards scraping across an unyielding surface, screeching in his ear. "Now, my pretty," she sing-songed mockingly, leaning into Emma's face and seemingly feeding on the helplessness and fear in the room, "let's see what we can do."

Killian was unable to go to her, to push the threat back, though every fiber of his being ached to do nothing else. His eyes widened and his fist clenched angrily, as he saw Emma gasp and begin to pant, suddenly unable to catch her breath. Without ever actually touching her, the Wicked Witch squeezed the air from his Swan's lungs, strangling her, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

As fast as the squeezing started, it stopped, and Emma gulped in air desperately, her rough inhale rasping in her throat. Killian was so relieved to see her drawing breath that he could focus on nothing else for several seconds. Until the Witch started in again on his golden-haired siren. "Let's not play games with each other, _Savior_," she hissed. "I know where your family is – where _Henry _is – and I can get to them more easily than ever, now that you're out of my way. Your son would already be dead if it weren't for this stupidly interfering pirate." She gestured behind her at Killian, and he couldn't help the hoarse cry that was ripped from his throat at the unexpected frisson of pain, like a knife slicing between his ribs, at her deft movement. "You're going to tell me what I need to know, _Your Highness_," she accentuated Emma's title with nasty emphasis, "or I'll send my winged minions to finish off your loved ones – if they haven't already – and if there is _anyone _left in one piece, I will bring them here to torture them in front of you for your lack of cooperation."

Emma tried to sneer at the green-hued banshee, but the venom in the threat made even Emma's bravado falter. He could see the fear for her family behind her forced calm expression, and he knew that though it would take a lot to break Emma Swan, her newly acquired family was the one chink in her armor. Their current situation proved her foe's power; this villainess was not playing games. He knew it. Emma knew it. And it would only get worse from here.

"Bloody hell, Lass!" he called out harshly, his voice raw as he tried to reach her while masking the pain he was in. "Don't listen to her!"

Emma's eyes flew to his desperately; he could tell that she wanted to believe him, but too many rotten, horrible things had accumulated over the course of her life – too many terrifying and awful things had happened in the last hour – for her to find much hope. Emma might be incredibly powerful, but faith in a happy ending had always been the hardest magic for her to muster. She gazed at him just a bit longer, drinking in his face as if using it to strengthen her resolve. Killian wanted to be that support for her, wished he could do infinitely more, but instead he forced himself to smile, tried to call up some of the mischief and play he usually gave her in a look, to help her believe she would get through this.

Howling in anger, the Witch saw what they were doing, and she _did _touch Emma then, clamping her clawed fingers around Emma's chin, and forcing the Princess's eyes back into her own burning stare. "Oh, you will look at me when I'm speaking to you, Princess!" she ordered, and Killian could see Emma squirming against the other woman's grip, a pained scream breaking from her lips against her will. Killian did not know what was happening to her, but he could tell how much it was hurting Emma, and at that, he felt that the torture might as well be done to him.

The green hand finally released Emma's face, and Killian's stomach turned as he thought he heard an actual sizzle, realizing the monster's touch had burnt Emma's pale, delicate skin. When he was able to look at her again, he saw ugly red welts already rising on her flesh. "You think that hurt, dearie?" the Witch chortled at Emma's stinted, labored breathing. "Let me show you what I plan to do to your precious Henry and your perfect, _charming_ parents." She waved her arm in a dramatic circle, and a hazy, pale blue orb began to appear in thin air, like the pane of a magic mirror about to show them some horrifying vision.

Killian could take no more, could not stand to see Emma punished so ruthlessly. He did not know if it would work, but he had to try. "Oi! You scaly bint! Leave her alone! Why don't you show me what you can really do?!" His insides were already churning, but no quaver of fear showed in his voice; all that escaped was his rage at the way she had gone right for Emma's good heart, sapping her painfully and without remorse.

Shock crossed Emma's face, and her eyes widened fearfully, but for once in all the time Killian had known her, the brilliant lass did not argue or disagree, telling him either how surprised she was – or how hopeless.

Their tormentor, however, looked equally as taken aback, and she pivoted to stare openly at the infamous marauder Captain Hook as if she were seeing him for the first time. "Well, well, well, what have we here?" she giggled maniacally. "Could the ruthless pirate captain really be so vulnerable?"

She began to stalk toward him, calculated and menacing as she drew nearer, biding her time, a serpent readying to strike. The Witch was grinning evilly in anticipation of her next move. Not only was she anxious to move in for the kill, but as he studied her, trying to brace himself for the torture she would unleash, Killian realized that she was also puzzled by, and keenly interested in, a "villain" so clearly concerned for another above himself.

Killian glanced once more toward Emma, trying to fix in his mind the reason for what he was doing. One look at the way she huffed out short, constricted little breaths and the way she slumped weakly within the invisible force holding her in place, and he knew he would weather whatever this harpy wanted to rain down on him, if it would keep her away from Emma. His Swan sent him a hard-to-read look from across the distance separating them: a look of gratitude, concern, guilt, fear…and something almost tender.

He was still focused on her lovely face when the Witch struck, and it jarred him back to reality in terrible fashion. He actually lifted from his feet and was slammed backward into the wall so forcefully that he felt his bones breaking. Biting his tongue, he managed not to cry out, but his vision swam hazily, the pain nearly blinding.

It quickly became clear, however, that his tormentor would not allow much time for him to catch his breath, and she would not stick to just one method either. The moment he was set back on his feet, he was swept by the sensation of burning. He felt tongues of fire licking under his skin as surely as if he had been set aflame. He had no idea how this evil enchantress had the ability to cause so much pain without even physically touching him, but he was feeling the full effect of her ability now. It was hell on a body already raw and weakened, but he found that he couldn't even draw breath to cry out, and he was ridiculously grateful. He did not wish to be unmanned by pain so quickly, and he knew that her torment had only just begun.

The Witch frowned as he silently bore one mode of punishment after another, obviously not liking that she could not hear the evidence of his suffering, could not get her full measure of satisfaction while he remained stoic. She came closer still; her eyes narrowing as she funneled even more concentration and power into her next attempt.

Suddenly a scream did fly from his lips; the cutting blow he felt across his back so sudden and unexpected that he cannot hold it in. He had felt that pain only once before, when he was given the lash for desertion, long ago after the Royal Navy had caught up to him. It had nearly killed him then, and he only managed to escape with his life thanks to a daring last minute rescue by his loyal crew. He still carried the physical and mental scars. While his mind knew there was not an actual whip flaying his bare back, the Witch's magic recreated the damage perfectly, and he had no doubt that his skin was every bit as torn and dripping blood as it had been all those ages ago. He tried to hold his reaction in, but as he lost count of the number of vicious strikes sliced into him mercilessly, he actually began to heave and choke before a guttural cry of anguish tore from his chest, echoing through the dark chamber. It was only vaguely at the edge of his wavering consciousness that he realized Emma was begging and crying out for the Witch to spare him as well.

The onslaught stopped as abruptly as it had begun, slack returning to his chains, and Killian slumped to the floor in a boneless heap, unable to move. The Witch stood over his quivering, beaten form, gloating at her success. "Catch your breath, Hook," she intoned, nudging him with the pointed toe of her boot. "I'll be back for round two."

"Leave him alone, you monster!" Emma raged from the other side of the chamber, her voice frantic and angry. She sounded ready to strangle the villainess with her bare hands if she could only get to her. Killian couldn't even find it in himself to raise his head and look for her.

He did hear the sinister purr of the Witch as she spoke once more before walking away. "See here, my pretties," she warned. "I'm going to leave you for a moment. It will give you a last bit privacy to say your goodbyes." She waved her hand once more, and Emma fell to the floor; the spell that had been immobilizing her gone. "You had better go to your pirate while you can, Darling," the Witch continued callously to Emma. "I'm not sure how much more he can endure. Once you have seen how I can break someone, you may be more eager to keep your other loved ones safe."

With those words, she vanished in a plume of green smoke, and Emma ran to his side, collapsing to her knees before him, and gently – ever so carefully – reached for his hand while stroking her cool palm over his forehead.

"K-Killian? Can you hear me?" she asked meekly. "What can I do? She's blocking my magic somehow, or I'd try to heal you." When he doesn't speak, trying to regain his breath, she seems to panic. "Hook! Please, say something!"

It was all he could do to swallow hard and choke out her name through a throat hoarse from screaming. He managed to gently return the pressure on her hand holding his. "It's alright, Lass….Not your fault…"

"It _is_ my fault! She turned on you to break me!" Her fingers were shaking as she soothingly brushed strands of his jet hair off his forehead, wanting to comfort him, but not sure how to do more without hurting him further. "It's enough, Killian…I can't watch you hand over your life for me."

There were so many things he wanted to say to her in that moment: that she was worth it, that he wanted to stay with her forever, that his life was nothing compared to hers. He wanted to thank her for finally letting him hear his given name on her lips and to beg her to kiss him one more time. Yet none of it passed his parched, dry throat. "Sweetheart…" he finally panted weakly. "Don't worry…about me. Find Henry. Put this bloody wench down….And live your life. Be happy…finally."

"No!" He felt the movement as she shook her head, her stubborn streak returning. "No, you're a part of my life now. You deserve your happiness too. Not this."

"Remember, Love…I'm a villain," he licked his lips and drew in a shaky breath. "Weren't we told that villains…don't get happy endings?" He tried a weak smile, which was lost to her anyway; she could only half see his face from where he lay, unable to roll over without ripping his back open even more.

A broken sob escaped her in a shudder as she ran a hand along his cheek. It was all he could do to hold himself together and stave off unconsciousness. He feared if he let go, he would never wake, or that when he did, she would be gone and he would not see her again. "You're no villain," her voice broke in once more, calling him back to her side. "You haven't been for a long time now."

"Thank you, Emma," he whispered, letting his eyes close for a moment, stunned by the intensity in hers and nearly unable to fathom her show of affection. It was truly painful to see what could have been between them now that he knew it was too late for him. He hated feeling so weak in front of her now, when she needed him, and he was horrified by the reality that he would not be a live distraction to keep the Witch from Emma much longer. A tremor went through him, which she felt and drew closer to him, squeezing his hand in a show of support.

He vaguely heard the popping sound of the Witch reappearing in another puff of smoke. He could not move more than to half-watch as he tilted his head. Horror filled him when Emma pulled her hand away from his to stand and step toward their tormentor angrily. He wanted to call her back, to warn her to save herself, but no sound escaped his mouth as she flew at the jade demon like a woman possessed.

Caught off guard, the Witch raised a hand to strike the Savior down, but to his shock, Emma instead disappeared completely, vanishing into thin air.


	4. Chapter Three: Resolve

_Hello All! Sorry that I kept you waiting a bit longer for this chapter, but I'm back to my computer now, so here is the next installment. The cliffhanger from the last chapter is resolved, but I'm afraid you may find this chapter's ending even more intense. All I'm gonna say is: it isn't over yet, so don't be angry with me until the end. Sorry in advance, but cliffhangers are also what keep us coming back for more, right?_

_Anyway, keep letting me know what you think. I won't keep you waiting long…I hope to have this story completed before "Once" returns on Sunday._

_Villain's Happy Ending_

_Chapter Three: Resolve_

Emma blinked and tried to focus, stunned as the purple cloud that had surrounded her and swept her up dropped her down again and cleared away. She had only a moment to steady herself and wonder what had happened, while she reached up to touch the tear tracks still fresh on her cheeks. Her mind was still with Hook lying broken on the floor of the prison she had been pulled from, and her heart plummeted, knowing that their enemy would take her disappearance out on him as well. Horrified that, even if it was against her will, she had left him alone to his fate, she glanced around quickly, ready to question whoever had transported her here.

She had no more time to dwell on that thought before her name was being called by several voices at once, and she was engulfed in several pairs of eager arms. Henry burrowed his face into her side, his arms around her middle, holding on tightly. Mary Margaret was there too, simply reaching around Henry to hold them both. David was behind her; Emma felt his hand rubbing her back comfortingly and felt him place a light, paternal kiss to her hair. Regina stood back a bit, but her eyes sought Emma's, full of her own questions as soon as her family's exclamations settled down.

However, Mary Margaret picked that moment to pull back and cup her daughter's face in her hands, causing Emma to wince in pain and flinch away from the painful contact with her burnt skin.

"What is it?" her mother asked, concerned, then hissed in sympathy as she really looked at Emma's face.

"She burned me," Emma stated simply, trying to hide the way her eyes watered at the mere brush of fingers against the welted skin, and she tried to evade them focusing on her injury. They needed to find where the Witch was and stop her before it was too late. "I'll live. We have to get back there and stop her! She still has Hook, and she'll kill him!"

Regina stepped forward then, easily waving a calm hand in front of Emma's face, emitting a glow that soon washed over Emma's skin and gradually eased the pain of the burn. When Regina dropped her hand again, Emma could tell from the look of relief on her mother's face that probably even the marks from the burns were gone.

"Thanks," she nodded to Regina, genuinely grateful, even through her near-frantic impatience. Forcing a deep breath, she squared her shoulders before pushing forward with her questions. "How did you find me anyway? Can you get to Hook too? Or can we get back there and finish her off?"

The former Evil Queen shook her head, looking regretful, but she answered Emma's questions directly and without hesitation. "We don't know where you were. We used a tracking spell of sorts to zero in on you, and it pulled you to us when you were located. We used a drop of both your parents' blood to seek you specifically. It won't work on Hook; we don't have anyone who shares his genes to cast something similar."

"Then we need another way to figure out where she was holding us, and we need to get there fast and end this!"

"I quite agree, Miss Swan," Regina said, still managing to seem incredibly placid. Since Regina had actually begun to work more _with _them instead of _against _them, Emma had gotten to know the other woman well enough to pick up on her tells though. They were small enough to often be missed, but Regina was not as cold and emotionless as she often came across. A furrow creased her brow, and she drew a deep breath. "Then you're going to have to tell me all you can remember about where you were held, and hope that we can figure it out."

"Alright…" Emma paused, quickly trying to organize her thoughts and not leave out any details they might need. "It was dark, cool, the floor and walls were stone. It almost seemed as if we were underground. I couldn't tell you much else about it. It was an open, empty space... and I was focused on her…and what she was doing to him…" she trailed off, having to gulp in a breath before her voice broke. She _would not _cry. They didn't have time for that now. She didn't break this way – she took action. She needed to get back there; that was all there was to it.

It could be somewhere under the library," Regina mused, "but I don't think she would want to deal with, or have to work around, Maleficent."

Emma nodded, that possibility having already entered her mind and been discarded for much the same reason. She tried to force her mind to produce another option, but nothing came.

"It could be somewhere in the mines," David broke in hopefully. "Most of it is just a maze of tunnels, but Grumpy mentioned a few bigger areas, almost like rooms, at strategic spots to allow extra air flow and such. It could be that she discovered one of those and made it into a secluded hideout, since so few know of their existence."

"That actually sounds like an excellent theory," Regina acknowledged, granting the prince a tight half-smile. "We should certainly search it anyway."

"One more thing," Emma said, quickly grabbing Regina's elbow to stop her movement, "she had something to block my magic. I couldn't move or do anything against her. You may know a way around that, but I didn't."

"I _did _anticipate that," Regina purrs, her eyes alight with what almost seems an eager glow. Emma knew that the Queen had been curbing her urges toward vengeance and dark magic for Henry's sake, but watching the raven-haired woman almost lick her lips in anticipation showed Emma that Regina was anxious to really unleash her full powers without breaking her vow to stay on the side of good. "That's why we're going to draw her here instead. We don't have the time to run around trying different locations. Together, we can defeat her if we draw her out in the open. My guess is that she has charmed the space to repel magic other than her own, not that she can actually steal our power."

"Okay then," Emma whispered, soft, but in a voice still hard and determined as steel. "I'll follow your lead, Regina."

"Get Henry out of here first," Regina prompted, looking to Snow and Charming with genuine trust and nearly bowling Emma over with the weight of it. "Emma and I can do this if we combine our skill, but not if we're worrying for our son – or either of you – with half our energy."

"You know we'll protect him with our lives," Mary Margaret vowed and gave a curt, determined nod before she took Henry's hand, heading for David's truck as David followed, ushering his wife and grandson to safety.

Emma turned to Regina then, eyebrows raised curiously. "Tell me what you need from me," she invited, itching to get the Witch on their turf, and more importantly, away from Hook. She needed to finish this once and for all. "Let's do this."

~~~~~~~~88888888888888888~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flawless memory was something Killian Jones had worked for and painstakingly developed over his many long years of life. Holding the past before his eyes had allowed him to stay focused on his vengeance through centuries of disappointment. In this hell of torment and despair though, he was coming to regret the perfect recall he had once so desired. He could feel every strike the Witch had made against him; every rip in his flesh, and the mental wound that went with each one, reasserted itself unendingly. The enchantress had left him to his misery for the moment, but Killian almost certain it no longer mattered.

Beyond his own suffering, his mind's eye kept recreating the helplessness in Emma's eyes as the villainess had pinned her to the wall unable to move, along with the panic and sense of failure that had engulfed him at the sight of her being hurt while there was nothing he could do to stop it. His only comfort was that she was gone. Emma was no longer there in the line of fire where he would have to watch their foe hurt her. His pain and dread for how this would all end for him was made the tiniest bit better by at least knowing she would not see him any weaker than she already had. Suffering silently in an attempt to still show strength for her had become nearly impossible, and he had not wanted Emma to see his resolve falter as he finally broke.

He could only pray that she was somewhere safe – that her startling disappearance had been due to the others finding a way to magically summon her to them. The Witch had seemed as stunned as he, so Killian was pretty sure she had not been the cause. Emma's escape had cost him even more dearly than stepping into the line of fire for her had, but he could not bring himself to regret it. She was free, and she would live. He'd had some small part in that – truly found his 'good form' again – even if he had given his life to enact it. Lying alone in the dark, bound, broken, and sure he would not see the outside of the cold, unforgiving, stone walls again, he still felt some sense of calm.

When his Swan had vanished from the Witch's grasp, then the torture had grown frenzied. The fiendish enchantress had only paused in her burning, gouging, strangling, and suffocating long enough to question him over and over: How had it been done? How had the Princess managed her disappearance? Where was she now? Then, she would attack his mangled form again. Killian was truly glad he did not know anything; she would never get anything from him, even if he had given in, which he would never do.

He shifted tentatively, seeking some comfort, only to groan weakly as every fiber of his abused being protested. Killian couldn't see himself, was almost too far gone to even attempt taking stock of his injuries, but he felt that he was finally done for. It was just a matter of time before his body gave up the fight.

It seemed as if he might simply drift away and leave the world behind at last. It certainly was not the happily ever after that Emma had made him wish for once again, but he did feel at peace. He knew that he had sacrificed his life for good – _for Emma_ - and after more than 300 years, he felt that he would finally be able to lay his lost and wandering soul to rest.

Killian wished almost absently that he could have said goodbyes to Charming, Snow, Henry, Tink, and the rest of his new allies. He fervently desired one last kiss form Emma's lips to send him on his way. More than anything, he wished that he could know for certain that they would triumph, that right would prevail, and that Emma would be alright. She needed to find the life she had always wanted and the joy she deserved. He realized he would have to leave the world regardless, but his fading breaths prayed for a sign.

As if in answer to his fervent plea, at that moment, Killian felt a tremor run through the ground under him, a shiver in the surrounding air. He felt change burst both deep within him, as a huge, powerful pulse swept up and shook _everything, _the very atmosphere itself. He let himself feel that energy; his nerves reacting, his hope restored. Somehow she had done it; he knew in that instant that the Wicked Witch was dead and they had won.

Whatever happened to him now, whatever time remained to him, he was grateful for that knowledge. His heart was that much lighter. The pain and sadness faded as Killian Jones finally closed his eyes and slipped away…


	5. Chapter Four: Salvation

_On we go; here's Chapter Four! Thanks for all the nice, encouraging reviews you have been leaving. I love hearing what people think, and it helps me to gauge if readers are staying interested. This chapter is longer than the others have been, but I don't think you'll mind that once you read it! After this, there's still an epilogue. _

_As always, I don't own them (sadly), and I truly do hope you enjoy reading._

_Villain's Happy Ending_

_Chapter Four: Salvation_

When the steam had dissipated and the street was clear again, Emma could hardly believe that the battle was actually over. She and Regina had done it; the Wicked Witch was gone, and she'd had some part in magically ending the sadistic terror. Breathing heavily, she stood up from where the released power had blown them back, her legs shaking with exertion and shock, and cast a tentative smile at Regina next to her.

"Not bad, Miss Swan," the formerly Evil Queen said in that sleek purr of a voice, obviously pleased with what they had done, but not used to complimenting someone else – or having needed her help. "There may be hope for your magic after all."

Emma merely smirked at the Queen, shrugging one shoulder offhandedly. She remembered how frustrated Regina had been while trying to teach her to wield her magic in Neverland; strange that they had been able to master it together so easily when it was necessary to protect the ones they loved. "I guess desperate times call for desperate measures," she quipped back.

As it turned out, though the Witch had been infinitely more terrible than the_Wizard of Oz _story had ever led Emma to believe, their way to be rid of her malice once and for all was much the same. It had been relatively easy to dangle herself as vulnerable bait, faking being lost, injured, and disoriented as she pretended to limp down Storybrooke's deserted Main Street.

The Witch had obviously been keeping an eye out for her reappearance – Emma wondered idly if the green banshee had a crystal ball to view things with like she had seen in the movie so often as a child – because the sorceress was there facing Emma in moments. The wide, disgusting grin of evil delight stretched across her discolored face was pure malice, thrilled to find her prey so seemingly defenseless. Her smile faltered only slightly when Emma straightened and met her eyes defiantly, clearly not as incapacitated as she had seemed. The villainess didn't even seem that disturbed when Regina sauntered out of one of the empty storefronts to join Emma; instead, like the truly overconfident baddie she was, the Wicked Witch had looked ravenous to take them both out at once. "Well, well, my lovelies," she tittered delightedly, "you must be anxious to meet your end."

Regina flicked her hair back, managing to look completely in control and almost bored with the whole situation – a feat Emma was truly impressed with. "I wouldn't get too cocky," Regina warned calmly, meeting their opponent's eyes with calm, cold readiness. "You don't know who you're dealing with."

"A couple of deluded fools who think they can stop me," the sorceress shot back. However, she didn't spend any more time trading barbs with the queen. Her eyes slid to focus on Emma again, sparking maliciously before her next words twisted Emma's gut with terror and revulsion. "One would think you would know better, _Princess_," she cooed. "Though you do seem to have mended well from our last encounter, I must say. I'm not sure you will be able to say the same for your pirate – if you ever find him." She must have seen the damaging affect her words had on Emma's face, because then she was practically beaming in sick pride. "I wonder if you'll even recognize his bloody carcass as the Captain you know," she added, her words taunting Emma as they lanced into her heart with searing, red-hot efficiency.

Regina's eyes moved to her and gave Emma an imperceptible shake of the head, warning her not to let their foe steal her focus. Emma nodded, and the two of them raised their hands in unison on an unspoken cue. The Witch was still busy gloating at the pain she had obviously caused the princess, unconcerned by their move, so sure she was impervious.

Emma gathered her rage that this she-devil would hurt Killian so badly – torture just for the twisted thrill of it – and her fear for his safety, and forced herself to channel it into her actions; to use the havoc this monster had wrecked to her own advantage. She couldn't worry about what she would discover when she found him; she would not accept anything other than finding him, and his being alright.

At that, tingling sparks traveled from her heart out to all her extremities, crackling visibly and joining with the energy radiating from Regina's open palms as well. It shot so quickly from the two of them, that until it actually hit the Wicked Witch, it moved too quickly for her to identify it as a deadly jet of water – until it had already hit and soaked her. Howling in rage and pain, the Witch's deadly fire was extinguished at last, and as steam rose off her body and engulfed the entire square, she truly did begin to melt and sink into the ground, wailing just as she always had from the static-y screens of so many foster home tvs as Emma was growing up. If things had not be so deadly serious and the relief she felt so intense, it would almost have been humorously ironic – finally something had happened just as its story version described.

She looked to Regina at her side, needing to make sure that they had really gotten her, that she truly was gone. The monarch stepped forward, regarding the pointed black hat on the street with disdain, nudging it with a toe and seeing no movement or repercussion. Regina allowed a pleased smile to grace her regal face and gave Emma a nod. "Well, there's one menace I certainly won't miss," she stated drily.

"You have no idea," Emma agreed, her relief evident in her voice, even as she tried to keep her tone casual and let herself enjoy the moment of levity and accord with the Queen. However, she couldn't hold the neutral tone or expression for long; she had been struck too close to the heart for that. "What she said…You don't think…?" She couldn't even bring herself to voice the fear that Hook was dying and they wouldn't find him soon enough, or that they might already be too late.

"We won't know until we locate him, Miss Swan," Regina cautioned. Her voice was steady and soothing, but a tinge of sadness in her dark eyes made Emma feel that Storybrooke's mayor understood her turmoil more than she had ever realized before. "Don't give up though. That hag would have said anything to weaken your powers. What is it your saccharine-sweet mother is always preaching?" She smirked. "Hold onto hope."

Emma actually gave her a real smile then, one that reached her eyes at the idea of seeing him once more. "Hang in there, Pirate," she whispered, wishing that in some way he would hear her words. "We're on our way."

~~~~~~~~~~~~8888888888888888888~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Neither Emma throwing herself against the immovable stone door repeatedly, nor David putting his shoulder to it to help her push, could budge the barrier to the Witch's hidden dungeon once they finally reached the stronghold deep within the mines below Storybrooke. Nothing made an impact until Regina blasted the stone into rubble with one well-placed wave of her hand. Then they were through and greeted by the horrible sight of Killian Jones lying unaware of the crashing, the rain of scattered pebbles onto the ground around him, Emma's scream at the sight of his broken, discarded form slumped lifelessly on the floor, or their pounding feet running to him and her beloved voice calling his name.

The sight of him shocked David and Regina into motionless silence, freezing the two royals in their tracks. Even Emma, who had been with him in the prison at first, was unprepared for how much worse he looked as she finally made it back to his side. His entire face was a mass of black and purple bruising, hardly a patch of untouched skin remained. His shirt was in rags from the lashing he had endured, and the way the skin of his strong, sturdy back was laid open, started silent tears pouring from her eyes. Burns littered the exposed skin that she could see, the fingers of his good hand appeared dislocated, and she knew from what she saw before she was pulled away that he had broken bones that weren't visible as well.

Emma fell to her knees next to him, praying with a desperate fervor she had never felt before that they were not too late. Afraid to touch him, hesitant that anywhere she made contact would do more damage, she still had to show him she was there, that he was not alone any longer. She had to find out if he was still alive. Her fingers gingerly moved to his neck feeling for a pulse and terrified there would not be one. "David! I don't feel a pulse! I can't tell if he's breathing!" She was sobbing now, messily, helplessly coming unhinged in a way that scared her. Yet she couldn't stop it either. He had gotten to her, crawled under her skin, and now it felt as if she could be cracked open, pulled apart at the seams as the seconds ticked by and she got no response and those gorgeous, enchanting blue eyes didn't open to meet her gaze.

"He can't be gone! _He can't!_" she railed at her father and Regina as if they had tried to argue with her.

The solution came to her instantly, striking her with the force of a vision and galvanizing her into action, beating back the despair. She was the product of True Love, the Savior, and she knew with startling clarity just what to do. At any other time, under normal circumstances, she would have hesitated, pulled back. In that moment though, the feeling that she couldn't live without this infuriating, delicious, charming pirate captain Killian Jones, the knowledge that no one else would ever read her like "an open book", understand her as well because much of her pain had been his as well, overwhelmed her. She had not wanted to find True Love; she had been running from anything with that potential ever since Neal left her and she closed her heart. Somehow though, her True Love had found her despite her efforts in the person of a cocky ruffian sailor, and she wasn't going to give him up now without a fight, not before she could tell him she accepted, that she loved him back.

Trying hard to be careful, to be gentle, Emma cradled his head in her lap, brushed anxious fingers through his dark hair, savoring the feel of the strands running over her skin, having wanted to touch his hair longer than she would have admitted. She eased his torso up and leaned over to press her lips to his, fully intending to wake him with True Love's kiss. She held her breath, anticipating the rush of warmth, the breeze sweeping over them, and the surge of radiant energy engulfing them that she remembered from when she broke Henry's sleeping curse. When nothing happened, it nearly broke her. It couldn't be too late. He couldn't leave her before they even had a chance, just when she found herself able to let him in.

"Please, Killian," she whispered, leaning further over him, her blonde mane falling over the two of them, shielding both of their faces from view and hiding the way hers had crumpled in pain. "Please come back…stay with me…"

"Emma, Emma," David's voice was murmuring her name, filtering in hazily as he tried to comfort her, his hand resting on her shoulder gently. He started to say more and knelt near Killian as well, but his voice cracked on his own emotion and he stopped. Then he drew in a sharp breath that snagged her attention. "Wait, his chest moved! Emma, look!"

Disbelieving and unsure, Emma stared at Killian's chest, hardly daring to hope that she would see it rise and fall even the barest bit. She stroked his hand, having to touch him what little she was able, rocking forward, anxious to draw him back to her. "Then why isn't he waking up? Why didn't it work?"

Regina moved forward again, breaking into the conversation. "It's as though something is holding him back. You brought him around – he's breathing – but he can't quite wake either. I have never seen anything like it. True Love's Kiss didn't fail. He's alive, but it would almost seem his spirit broke. He gave up the fight and let go, and now that is keeping him in this state."

"So what do I do?" Emma asked desperately; willing to do anything to make those incredible ocean eyes meet hers again and sweep her up the way she had tried so hard to avoid. She had spent so much time beating back his advances, resisting his charm and refusing to see the sincere devotion behind it, and now she desired nothing more than one of his flirtatious overtures and that devastatingly effective quirk of his eyebrow. She stroked his hair again, fingers ghosting over the mottled bruises and bloody scrapes on his cheeks, his neck, and his collarbone. Bending to delicately place a chaste, close mouthed kiss to his brow, she tried to will him to respond, to sense her presence, to wake up calling her "lass" and telling her it was "about bloody time", to bring back the broken smile he had started to repair. If she had shut him out until it was too late, if he never got to know how much she did care for him, if he had still felt abandoned and alone, Emma knew she would never able to grant herself forgiveness for her cold denial and stubborn self-preservation.

Storybrooke's mayor shook her head uncertainly, deep in thought. "I'm honestly not sure. Keep calling him, hold on tight. I don't know, but maybe he's just fighting his way back."

Emma let her fingers trail down the side of his weathered face, loving every slope and angle, even battered and scarred. She hoped it was true. "Come on, Pirate," she urged, "I know you're still in there. Come back…_I need you._"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~8888888888888888888~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killian did not know when he had last felt so free. Nothing weighed him down or troubled him; it was like a perfect day at sea: calm, peaceful, floating along without a care in the world, the breeze caressing his face and birds crying overhead. He breathed in the crisp, salt-tinged scent and almost felt the gentle rocking of the Jolly riding the gentle rhythm of the waves. Finding himself in his only home once more, Killian attempted to open his eyes, and it was only then that he realized the problem.

Instead of his beloved ship, he saw nothing. There was only gray, swirling air – a void – which his vision couldn't even begin to penetrate. The comforting sounds and smells, along with the ease and happiness he had felt moments before vanished at the slap of reality. He didn't know where he was or what had happened. He tried to sit up, to move, but nothing happened. His body seemed to be completely out of his control, for none of his efforts had any effect. The peace and comfort he had been enjoying suddenly became a frightening abyss.

He strained even harder to see _something_ – anything that he could focus on – but nothing appeared. Killian opened his mouth to call out, hoping that someone would hear him and guide him forward, but no sound came. He couldn't even be sure his mouth had opened. His heart would have been pounding out of his chest, but he couldn't even feel it.

Something was horrifyingly not right. He had been so sure that he had finally earned his redemption, that he had some sort of good rest and reward awaiting him at last, yet this was nothing but a nightmare. Seconds stretched into minutes; aching, eternal, and so out of his control that he could hardly stand it. At the same time, there was nothing he could do; he was simply there. He couldn't move, couldn't see, couldn't speak, and he waited aghast as it seemed the oblivion would last forever.

Then, when he had despaired of ever hearing another sound again, his own name touched his ears in a voice seeming to belong to an angel. The sweet notes of it were pained, begging, and every fiber of his being ached to answer. _I'm right here!_ Killian's mind thought frantically, though no words left his mouth. Still, the sweet voice kept calling him, pleading with him to come back to her. It gave him something to focus on, bit by bit pulling himself toward the sound, until he realized that other sensations were slowly returning to him as well.

Pain rushed in next; every inch of him throbbed, burned, or stung mightily, making him have to grit his teeth against a groan that almost voiced itself audibly. Encouraged, even as weak as the action was, Killian kept pushing forward. He could recognize the voice as Emma's now, though he didn't understand why she was begging him for anything so desperately. He wanted to touch her, to get to her, to show her that he would always answer when she called…if only he could see where she was.

Fighting against his unwilling body once more, he finally managed to open his mouth and gulp in a desperate breath of air. Struggling, clawing, swimming up through the darkness, he suddenly burst into the physical world again, forcing his eyes open to find more than blackness.

She _was_ an angel! His mind marveled for a stunned, disoriented moment as Emma's face, so close to his and wreathed in light, was the first vision that burst upon his eyes. He knew his view of her wasn't quite right, but she might as well be _his_ angel; even as muddled as his mind was, he sensed that she had called him back from death. He didn't know why she seemed to be cradling him in her arms or why tears were streaming down her cheeks, but he was so relieved to see her smiling and unharmed and with him once more that he found it did not truly matter. The tiniest of crooked smiles touched his face groggily as his found his cracked, weakened voice to murmur, "Oh Lass, aren't you a sight for these sore eyes…"

She let out a strangled sound that seemed a mix between a laugh and a sob, and she only seemed to draw him closer, pulling him into what he realized must finally be his bit of Heaven.


	6. Epilogue

_Here at last is the epilogue – the final chapter of this little "Once" adventure. I hope you have enjoyed reading, and I would love to hear what you think of the final installment. I still don't own them._

_Enjoy!_

_Villain's Happy Ending_

_Epilogue_

_One month later…_

He had never imagined that life could be so good.

Killian Jones came back from the dead to find that he at last had the chance to be happy. Nothing in his long years of living had prepared him for the simple joy and fulfillment that being part of a family – a son-in-law, surrogate father, partner and mate – brought. He had loved Milah all those ages ago; he would never pretend that their relationship had not happened, for it had shaped who he was and was part of him still. However, until Emma called him back and saved his life with True Love's Kiss, he had not understood how it felt to find the _right _person, the one he was meant to find, and have her love him in return. The strength and blissful glow of their love enveloped him, making him feel stronger and worthier than he had experienced in all his centuries of life.

That did not mean everything was simple. Recovering from the torture the Witch had subjected him to had taken time and patience. Killian needed to heal physically, and mentally he was still repairing the damage. Even though she had helped in defeating their enemy and rescuing him, Killian hadn't wanted Regina using her magic to heal him. Emma would have tried to persuade him otherwise if she was sure of her control over her own abilities, but she couldn't bring herself to risk anything going wrong. Beyond that, she respected his wishes and understood his aversion to having magic used on him – even to ease pain and speed the process. After watching Rumplestiltskin murder Milah, suffering the loss of his hand to the Dark One's magic, and then spending years stuck with Cora and her abuses of power, it made sense for him to be wary.

So, she stayed at his side as much as he would let her while he recuperated. Killian had spent several days in Storybrooke's hospital, grousing about how unnecessary it was, but Emma hadn't been willing to let him chance infection in his many open wounds or have any of his broken bones reset incorrectly. He had grudgingly done as she asked when he saw how troubled for his well-being she truly was; there was literally nothing in all the realms he would willfully deny her.

Beyond grateful to have him restored to her and still frightened by how close he had come to death, Emma would have literally waited on him hand and foot, personally nursing him back to health, if Killian would have let her. The purpling bruises which marred his skin had shot pain to her heart's core those first few days, as he rested a lot more than he would have admitted to needing and they contrasted so sharply with his paler-than-usual skin and the stark, white, hospital sheets. When he had been released from doctor's care, Emma had put her foot down at his returning to his ship alone. He was still hobbling, as well as stiff and sore, and he might need help – _might need her_ – and she wouldn't know. "You're coming to stay with Henry and me," she said, her voice brooking no refusal.

For once in his life, he hadn't challenged or prodded at her, but simply nodded his acquiescence. There was a knowing look in his eyes, and his lips bore the smallest trace of a relieved and satisfied smile, but his only words were a whispered, "As you wish, Emma."

That had been three and a half weeks ago. Since then, slowly but surely, Killian's bruises faded, the healthy coloring came back to his face, and he could grasp things without wincing at the pain in his hand. He still sometimes clutched at his ribs with a sharp intake of breath when he moved too quickly or Henry told a story which made him forget himself and laugh out loud. Emma had laughed more in the last few weeks watching as her son introduced the pirate captain to television, the microwave, and showers and witnessing Killian's impressed looks of bemused surprise and puzzlement at the marvels of modern innovation. More than once, the three of them had spent their Friday evening crammed onto the couch in the living room, covered with blankets and watching a movie. Seeing Henry cuddled into Killian's side with her True Love's arm wrapped over them both near melted Emma's heart completely. He was barely limping anymore as he roamed their house curiously, his cat-like, masculine grace returning with every day that went by. He fit into their lives as if he should always have been with them.

As a new morning dawned clear and bright, Emma knocked briefly on the door of the spare bedroom Killian had been using without really pausing in her forward motion. By now, she had learned he was an earlier riser than she or Henry would ever be and had usually been up for hours before she ever went looking for him. She was halfway into the room before realizing that he hadn't answered and was in fact still in bed. Blushing deeply despite herself, Emma started to back out before she woke him, glad that he was resting so well. Or, she did, until her eyes fell on his relaxed form lying on his stomach, deep in slumber.

Tears pricked her eyes the moment she did. From where she stood in the doorway, Killian's bare back was on full display, not covered by the blankets that pooled at his waist. He had managed to keep anyone from seeing his scars since he had left the hospital, and looking at the marks he still bore tightened her chest with sympathetic pain. Before she thought, almost unaware of what she was doing, Emma had crossed the floor on silent feet and reached out tentatively to touch the skin which had been marred to protect her.

As soon as her hand brushed over his warm skin, Killian's gentle inhale, exhale rhythm stilled, and she felt the lean muscles under her fingers tense with awareness. One of his hands reached awkwardly to pull the blanket up over his back, and he turned to eye her, confusion and even a bit of fearful embarrassment in the striking blue still clouded with sleep. Emma was having none of it though, and halted his arm's movement, coming to sit on the edge of the bed, near his hip.

"What are you doing, Darling?" he questioned, his voice falsely lazy, trying to appear unconcerned and still gravelly, attractively warm.

She bit her lip, not wanting emotion to get the best of her, nor to embarrass him, but she needed Killian to understand. There was no part of him she did not love, nothing he had to hide any longer, no scar she would not find beautiful. Her voice rasped brokenly, but she pressed on, cupping his cheek in her hand and bending to give him a light kiss of greeting. "I was coming to see if you wanted breakfast," she managed, "but I – I didn't mean to wake you – I just…"

"Don't trouble yourself, Love," he murmured, smiling at her easily with adoration in his eyes that stunned her as he pulled her back to him to return her kiss with a more thorough one of his own. "It's time I was up. Give me a moment. I'll dress and be out to join you." He moved to sit, but she stopped him again, small hands resting on his toned shoulders and pushing him back gently.

"Wait, Killian," she whispered, urging him with her touch to lie back down and relax, hoping he would let her finish. "I think this is more important."

He swallowed hard and then looked away. His not wanting to meet her eyes tightened the knot in her throat further, but she persisted, his discomfort only adding to her resolve.

"Have you been hiding these from me?" she asked sadly, ghosting a gentle hand over his shoulder blade and down his side, tracing the pink, healing strips that were still clearly visible. His body jerked tensely, and Emma could see him struggling to hold still and not flinch away from her. "Why, Killian? You have to know…there is nothing you can't share with me, nothing we can't face together."

"Emma Lass, there's no need…You don't have to…" but she cut him off as he floundered to find words that freed her from what he saw as obligation. Before he could finish his thought, she leaned over him and followed the path of another scar with her lips, placing light, lingering kisses along his spine where another lash mark remained. Caressing his scarred back with hands and lips, she tried to convey how much she loved and treasured even what he felt was ruined and ugly, relying on action where words had failed her.

A shiver ran through him; Killian's frame quivered under her lips with his reaction. Finally, she rose up just enough to meet his eyes again, running her hands through his hair and then reclining to curl up beside him. "Do you know that I love you, Killian?" she asked plaintively, so softly that he nearly missed the words she breathed against his skin while she burrowed her face into his chest. "_Truly._ It is not going away – no matter what happens."

"Aye, Dear, though no more than I love you." He wrapped his arms around her, tracing a reverent hand over her beloved features while they lay face to face. "I only hoped to spare you the sight. I know those marks are far from appealing."

"You don't see what I see," she responded. She held his gaze, not letting him glance away or deflect her praise. "I see what you paid to keep me safe. I'm reminded that you were willing to give your life for good, regardless of the anguish it caused you. If I could take the pain of them away, I would, but I will never look at a single mark on your skin with anything but gratitude. Those scars mark your strength and what our love overcame."

A crooked smile quirked Killian's mouth then, a misty sheen before his eyes, but heat warmed his gaze too, the smolder flickering from him to her, and Emma was suddenly sure that she wouldn't do anything but stay in his arms for the rest of the day, until she was sure that he believed everything she had said.

~~~~~~~~~~8888888888888888~~~~~~~~~

Killian Jones simply could not believe his good fortune, but he could see Emma was sincere in every word she had said, and he pulled her even closer, kissing her forehead before tucking her to his side and letting his chin come to rest atop her silky, blonde hair. He was made to be with her, here in this moment, through everything else he had faced along the way. Now, with his saving grace in his arms, he could even be grateful for the long, painful journey. The Savior, his Swan – a bloody princess – was more than he deserved, however much she would deny that fact. He kept waiting for the force that would steal his happy ending from him. He was nothing but a pirate, after all. Yet, somehow, in her eyes, he could see that he was more: a hero, her prince, and the True Love she had waited for. They were in the midst of their own kind of fairy tale. In this one, maybe the villain could redeem himself and keep his reward.

"I see, Lass," he murmured, as he pecked a quick kiss to the tip of her nose and then lowered his mouth to skate over her jawline and traverse down her neck. "I've finally won you over, haven't I?" His smirked up at her mischievously, his eyes sparkling with overwhelming emotion. "My treasure," he whispered, pulling her firmly into his arms. He vowed to himself that she would never be lonely, forgotten, or betrayed again. She could not shake him, and nothing would take her away from him. Before claiming her lips in another fervent kiss, he swore against her skin, "I'll never let you go."


End file.
